Mother and Child Are Doing Well
by Weshallc
Summary: What do you get if you mash together the events of Series 2 episode 8. We Shall See. Had a wee scrub up on 10/04/19. No significant change to content and dialogue, just my scruffy presentation. Thank you very much to everyone who has read and continues to read this story. You make my day.
1. You Have a Son

He was drowning in a sea of blue, bright shimmering azure, but he wasn't afraid. He wasn't fighting even though his breath seemed to escape him. He was on a road clouded in mist surrounded by golden fields, soft honey coloured sheaves blowing softly against his face. Abruptly it was all gone, replaced by the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. Now only that smile filled his consciousness, bright, so inviting across the most perfect rosy red lips...

"Doctor, Doc 'scuse me, Doc there seems to be some movement."

Peter Noakes' soft spoken voice cut through the hazy dreamlike images in his mind. Dr Turner jumped causing the hard unforgiving chair to clatter. It took a few seconds for Patrick to remember where he was.

PC Noakes stood over him, his anxious face appealing to the physician. A surgeon in theatre scrubs was coming towards them. Patrick jumped to his feet, straightened his clothing and re-introduced himself to the obstetrician.

Peter stood just out of ear shot, as if somehow hearing the news from Dr Turner, would make it more likely to be good news. The green clad medic departed, Patrick walked towards the visibly trembling policeman.

They had managed to stop the hemorrhaging and repair the damage. It would take time for her to heal, but they couldn't see there being any permanent consequences. His wife had lost a lot of blood, but that could be replaced. Peter started to roll up his sleeve, Patrick held onto his arm reassuring him that it wasn't necessary, the London's blood bank had adequate supplies.

Peter wiped his mouth with his hand, "And...the baby?"

"You have a son, Peter," the doctor's tone had been grave up until then. He had tried to explain Camilla's condition as clearly as he possibly could to her worried husband. The GP's face lightened and his dull tired green eyes sparkled, "He needed a little help initially, but he is now holding his own. He is a fighter Peter, like his mother."

Patrick was fortunately still holding the new father's arm, as the constable failed to stop the relief from engulfing him. He leaned towards the doctor, who was now helping him stay on his feet.

"Can I see him, Doc?" his voice breaking.

Patrick didn't need to answer, a midwife appeared on cue. She took the new father's arm from the doctor leading him like a child to the neonatal ward.

Patrick returned to his rickety chair and reached for his cigarettes and lighter. Only to realize, it was now _a_ cigarette and lighter. Had he and PC Noakes really smoked a whole packet of Henleys, while sat waiting in the London Hospital maternity corridor. He put the single fag back into his pocket with the lighter. As much as he craved it, he knew Peter's need was greater.

A young nurse burst through the maternity ward doors and smiled at him. He had known her since she was a girl. He had delivered her brother and her niece. He remembered her mother proudly telling him, that their Betty had been accepted into nursing school.

"Your wife is on the ward phone, Dr Turner," she beamed, a glint in her eye. Nurse Ezard knew very well he was widowed, he gave her a sideways glance.

"This way Dr Turner," she insisted.

Once beside her, she hissed at him, "If Matron finds out, you are receiving personal communications through the ward telephone. She will not only have your guts for garters, but mine also."

Thankfully the ward was now being manned by the night shift. Nurse Ezard was on her own, while her colleague had gone to fetch another unit of blood from the blood bank fridge, ready for Mrs Noakes. There was tension however, due to the seemingly omnipresent Matron who could appear at any time. Her rounds were never regular or predictable. Dr Turner waffled through a confused apology, as Betty ushered him towards the nurses station and awaiting telephone receiver. She moved back towards the door to keep watch for the omnipotent Matron Axume.

"Hello," Patrick spoke into the receiver.

The voice on the other end was so quiet, he pressed the earpiece closer to him.

"Patrick, it's Shelagh."

The doctor relaxed and smiled, he sat on the corner of the nurses desk and let her talk.

"I know I shouldn't have rung, but I was so worried, it's been so long." She was talking very quickly "I didn't want to...disturb Nonnatus, I thought you might have some news by now?"

"She is in Recovery Shelagh, all is well. She is being transfused but the surgery appears to have been successful."

"and..and.." He anticipated her next question.

"A boy! A healthy baby boy, PC Noakes is with him now."

The phone went silent, he could hear her breathing.

Eventually, "That really is excellent news."

"Do you want to contact Nonnatus? They will be as anxious as you."

Silence again, just the sound of her breath.

"Would you mind doing that Patrick, I would have to explain and..."

Patrick rubbed his forehead, pushing his fatigued hair out of his eyes and kicked himself inwardly. What a ridiculous thing to ask her, he really was tired. He reassured her, he would take care of it and _no, she wasn't being silly, he was._ He changed the subject as swiftly as he could.

"Are you feeling any better? Did you finish your chips?"

Silence, deep breath in, quick exhale out, sound of her tongue been licked around her teeth. _She is feeling better._

"I am absolutely fine Patrick. Timothy ate the rest of the supper, what we were able to salvage."

Nurse Ezard hadn't any desire whatsoever to clean the sluice with a toothbrush, but she couldn't help being distracted from her watch for her foreboding foe. There was something about, when the old doctor smiled like that, she couldn't help but find distracting.

"Is Timothy in bed?"

"Y-yes, of course," came the reply. Another smile broke out across his weary face.

"Nurse Mannion, I hope you are not setting a precedent, by telling fibs on day one." Patrick glanced at the ward clock, it was still Friday, just.

Shelagh started talking quickly, he was exhausted and had to listen intently to catch everything she was saying as her accent thickened. She pleaded her case to him. The boy had been through an extraordinary day, he was over excited and although she had tried to protect him from the reason of his father's absence. Timothy had worked it out. He had probably sensed the change in her mood, she was sorry.

The bright child had discerned that Akela was responsible for the leaking of joy from the day. Shelagh had made a bed up for the pair of them on the settee and they had watched television and read until Timothy fell off to sleep.

Patrick let her ramble, just enjoying the sound of the voice he had missed so badly over the last three months. He wondered if this was actually the longest sentence he had ever heard her say to him. Eventually, he had some pity and reassured her that he wasn't cross, he completely understood. He added that not under any circumstance must she try and carry Tim to bed, but to leave him there and she in turn should take the child's bed.

A forced cough came from the ward doors, Nurse Ezard's eyes were wide and she was looking at him with a bemused expression. She raised her eyebrows and nodded.

Patrick quickly explained to Shelagh that he had to hang up, but he would be home soon. He suddenly realized how hungry he was and wondered if she was too. She sounded better, more coherent, more herself. Hopefully they had scraped something together from his beleaguered kitchen cupboards, to supplement the doomed fish supper. Timothy had been given money for a pie while Shelagh and he were at Nonnatus. Which seemed like days ago, but was only this afternoon.

He said he was sorry and hung up, after she had said she understood. Patrick again glanced at the clock, this was the second telephone conversation in just over 12 hours with the person he had feared he would never speak to again. That was until that morning.


	2. Sorry Nurse, I Need My Bag

Dr Turner pulled his MG up outside the old convent for the second time that day. Peter thanked him profusely for the umpteenth time that hour, for the care of his beloved wife and his precious unborn son. He went on to express his heartfelt appreciation for the doctor's support during the long wait, in what would have been a friendless hospital corridor. Patrick reassured him there wasn't any need to replace the spent cigarettes and wished him goodnight or was it good morning.

Peter headed up the never ending Nonnatus steps, more sprightly than Patrick had anticipated. Just eight hours ago he had sat in the same car, parked in the same spot. Watching someone else walk up those stairs, not quite as enthusiastically.

She had told him not to wait, but he had insisted. She turned when she had reached the top, with its imposing door and sent him a weak smile, before pulling on the bell. Patrick noticed she hadn't used her key to let herself in.

He acknowledged the relief in her face when Sister Julienne answered. Patrick wondered if the nun had been lying in wait, once she had been made aware of her sister's impending visit. She of course was, still a Sister of the Order of St Raymond Nonnatus, at least for now. He was not completely certain and she had barely tried to reassure him, that when she walked down that staircase she would simply be Shelagh.

She had informed him that it took years of preparation to finally be considered ready to make your final vows. She however was in possession of much less knowledge concerning the procedure for renouncing said vows.

"Maybe it takes as long, I may have to go to Chichester to talk with Mother Jesu Emanuel, maybe for months. I am not certain?" she had said.

He had meekly replied that however long it took, he would gladly wait and if she didn't mind, write. A mischievous giggle at that point had escaped from her lips and he realized he was being played.

She had appeared a lot less cocky when she had taken in the crestfallen expression on her superior's face.

Sister Julienne surveyed the sight of Sister Bernadette in a faded post-war skirt suit and utility shoes. The nun had washed and ironed the grey suit and blouse herself, only a matter of days before, then sent them to Woodford Green. She hadn't quite realized the impact seeing the young sister wearing those clothes, the ones she had so lovingly revitalised and repacked, would have on her heart. The change in the older woman's usually even demeanor had not been lost on her visitor, nor the onlooker in the car.

Patrick checked his watch, half-past four. It felt like he had been sat there an eternity.

He said he would wait, Timothy had been given money for a pie, covertly out of Shelagh's view. He had been told to finish his half-term homework, so as not to spoil the weekend. Patrick had informed Dr Enys that a family matter had arisen and he had agreed to cover his urgent calls. Non-urgent matters would be mopped up tomorrow and the beginning of next week.

Everything was in order apart from this unknown situation, of how long it takes to cease being a nun. Shelagh needed clothes, a coat was essential, the clocks were going back this weekend, there was definitely a nip in the air.

He had been quite taken aback at how little preparation she had actually made for returning to Poplar. It was so unlike her. She didn't seem to have a plan. She had managed to inform him, between Timothy's incessant questions, that she had indeed meant to go to the Mother House as intended.

It wasn't until she had finished her final bath at St Anne's sanatorium, she had become completely certain, she couldn't put on her religious garments. They had laid idle in the wardrobe for three months. Seeing herself in the mirror for the first time dressed in her old clothes and bathed in the light of dawn, reinforced in her the need to return home. For the first time in months, she knew her own mind, she also knew for certain where home was.

Following receiving the information that Fred would be delayed in collecting her. Due to the impending arrival of his second grandchild, she knew she couldn't wait any longer. She had asked to use the patient telephone, for only the second time in her long stay.

Outside Nonnatus, Patrick was getting fidgety, he got out the car and paced a little. Lit another cigarette. It was late afternoon, the nights were drawing in, it would soon be dark. There was nothing arranged for her shelter. He had suggested that Sister Julienne would probably insist she stay in her old room, for at least one night. Shelagh had changed the subject swiftly and he hadn't pressed any further.

He wondered if he could ask Mrs Penny, Marianne's old friend. She acted as a sort of housekeeper, babysitter and all round good egg, in times of need. She had a spare room, maybe she would put her up for one night? Just until they could sort out something more suitable tomorrow.

It depended on how long she was going to be. He could hardly turn up after dark at a close friend of his late wife, with Sister Bernadette; in as Timothy had pointed out, the wrong clothes, a sentiment Patrick didn't share with his son. He surmised she would also be tired and emotional after her appointment with Sister Julienne. He imagined trying to explain to their loyal retainer, without giving himself completely away, his concern for this vunerable young woman's welfare and comfort.

He thought he should be used to waiting. He mused how could this possibly be more unbearable, than the three months he had just endured without any contact at all. The answer was simple, he now had more than just a fragile hope. He had expectation and it was unbearable. Patrick impatiently looked at his watch again, twenty-five to five. A deep hollow chuckle escaped from Dr Turner's lungs into the emerging twilight.

Shelagh, because that was her name now, sat in the chapel of Nonnatus. She had took her favourite place to the left at the front, near the altar. She had told Sister Julienne she hadn't time, when the obviously perturbed sister had offered her the comfort of her old place of solace. She had told her she had so many things to do and she did. Doctor Turner would be in his car waiting for her. He would be anxious by now, she wondered how many Henleys he had gotten through, trying to ease his nerves. She allowed herself a slight smile at that thought.

It was only when she had walked through the chapel. Hoping to leave by one of the less used Nonnatus exits, that she hesitated and decided to take a few moments in the house of prayer. So many prayers she had said within these walls. Mostly for others, their well being, their hopes and their dreams. Prior to her removal to St. Anne's the prayers had become more personal. She had continued to pray for world peace, but also for her own peace of mind. For divine love, but also for the love in her own heart; which she could barely name, let alone comprehend.

As she sat, her hands wrung together as they did independent of will, when she struggled to connect her thoughts. She contemplated; was this the journey she had been on all along. Had she known that one day that road would finally close for her and a new path would open up before her. The only trouble was the old road had been clear, well trod and familiar. She had known where she was headed. This road was clouded in mist, the destination was unclear, there were a lack of signposts. She was much less sure of her footing on this path.

As she sat in silence, she was aware once again of the truth she had realized in her recent confinement. Both roads had the same guide, the one she had trusted for as long as she could remember. Through her childhood, her mother's death, her move to London, her chosen vocation and her life of devotion. She had never doubted Him before, she would not start now. Even though His voice was less discernible to her now, the love in her heart was still as steadfast. He knew her by name, even if it was no longer Bernadette.

Shelagh's silent contemplation was abruptly disturbed by the sound of voices outside the chapel. She heard Jane's voice louder than her usual timid range. She was calling for Sister Julienne. Something was wrong. Shelagh had been asked when she arrived to forgive all the commotion at Nonnatus, Chummy had gone into labour. Shelagh had been glad of the distraction, she had managed to enter without detection and she thought her exit would be similar.

She didn't think twice, instinct and years of training moved her from her secret hideaway, towards the distressed orderly and the nun.

"Can I be of any help to you, Sister?"

Sister Julienne spun round at the request. Shelagh thought she didn't look completely surprised to find her still in the building. She was informed that Chummy had started to haemorrhage. Jane continued not phased for one moment by her friends change in appearance. The emergency obstetric flying squad was being sent for, but they hadn't been able to locate Dr Turner.

Shelagh took a deep breath at this moment and felt the heat rise in her cheeks. Apparently no-one had seen him since this morning, when he left the maternity home with Timothy, in quite the hurry. Shelagh's mouth was dry, she tried to speak, but nothing was audible. Sister Julienne turned to her.

"You will be of great help to us, if you could ascertain Dr Turner's whereabouts and prevail upon him to attend Mrs Noakes at once...my friend."

There was something in the sisters demeanour that reassured Shelagh she need not reply or disclose any unspoken knowledge. Shelagh turned on her heels and made for the main exit, the one a few minutes ago, she had tried to avoid. Within seconds she was through the door and hurtling down the convent steps, two at a time.

Patrick was rewinding his watch, fearful it had stopped. He saw her at once and took the cigarette from between his lips and threw it carelessly on the ground, as he ran towards her. He thought she might be upset, but he never expected this much panic and anxiety.

He met her a few steps up, "What's wrong my love? What happened?"

She flinched as the unfamiliar endearment didn't go unnoticed, even at this moment. Coinciding with the foreign feel of his hands on her arms, as he tried to steady her.

"I am fine, it's Chummy, you are needed inside," came the breathless reply.

Patrick let go or her and headed straight up the steps. Shelagh took a large intake of breath. She had played her part, she would stay at the bottom of the staircase and wait for the ambulance. She would have the knowledge she helped in some small way, without causing unnecessary distraction by her unexpected presence and changed appearance.

Patrick turned as he pushed open the heavy door, without a second thought with his mind already fixed on his patient, he shouted down to her,

"Sorry Nurse, I need my bag!" he nodded towards the car, with that he vanished through the convent door and Shelagh's heart missed a beat.


	3. Shelagh

She found the dimly lit, ornate entrance hall deserted as she moved through the heavy double doors. She heard Jenny's fractured voice in the distance, imparting information to the London. She moved slowly and silently across the tiled floor. Shelagh had hoped Jane would still be around to take Dr Turner's bag from her. There was no-one to be seen.

She could hear movement on the first floor. Doctor Turner would need his bag to help Chummy. Nurse Lee was now comforting a sobbing Trixie. An uneasy smile crossed Shelagh's face. Nurse Franklin always so courageous and clear-headed in a crisis, but so fragile when trouble or loss of any kind, even temporary, came to Nonnatus. The visitor found herself chilled by her own thinking and hung onto the word temporary.

Shelagh climbed the familiar old worn wooden staircase. For one confused moment she thought it was the sound of singing that led her in the right direction. She hovered outside the Noakes' temporary living quarters, hoping Patrick would sense her presence and take the burden from her. He didn't notice the slight figure at the door. Dr Turner was completely engaged in trying to help the woman, who was no longer a colleague and a friend, but a patient. One who needed his full attention and professionalism.

Sister Julienne was talking to him, and Nurse Miller was trying to soothe Chummy. Suddenly Shelagh felt herself knocked sideways by a shove to her right hip.

"Gangway!" Sister Evangelina's unmistakable no-nonsense tone interrupted the concerned whispering in the bedroom, turned medical room.

Sister Evangelina dragged the cumbersome gas and air machine through the door, taking no prisoners. She gave a fleeting sideways glance to the figure in her way. The sister's entrance caused Patrick to look up, he spotted Shelagh and outstretched his hand, beckoning her to bring his bag to him.

Shelagh knew he wasn't the only one to become aware of her presence. For a second, all attention turned from one friend's unexpected plight to another's unexpected entrance. It was Dr Turner who broke the stalemate.

"Nurse!" his voice was firm, but not harsh. It was enough though to galvanise Shelagh into action.

She immediately found the nearest flat surface and automatically started unpacking everything she knew he would need.

Jenny had joined the carers and was talking to a very drowsy Chummy. Sister Evangelina ironically administered the gas and air she was so suspicious of.

Sister Julienne had planned to assist the doctor, but she soon realized her presence wasn't required. In fact she felt somewhat in the way. As the young woman, not in uniform, provided the physician with everything he needed, without him ever having to ask.

Not a word was said between them, until Dr Turner spoke her name, the name her mother had given her, not the church.

"Shelagh," it was barely a whisper, but it wasn't missed by anyone in the room, save Chummy.

She remained silent but lifted her eyes up towards him. He added nothing but gently nodded towards Nurse Miller, who he had asked to draw up an injection of pethidine. The young nurse was shaking, the vial looked precarious in her sweaty hand, the syringe was vibrating in the other. The usually expert medical practitioner was struggling to fit the needle through the tiny opening of the broken glass container. Fear for her friend had taken hold and the awareness that she may be failing her, was just making things worse.

Shelagh read Patrick's thoughts and the situation instantaneously and moved swiftly, but without fuss towards the frustrated nurse. She spoke for the first time since she had re-entered the convent.

"Mrs Noakes will need a suitcase packing for the hospital, Nurse. You will find her things much more easily than I. Would you let me do that for you?"

Shelagh gently took the misbehaving ampule and syringe from the broken nurse. She turned her back on Cynthia, so she did not see the speed and dexterity the midwife, who had officially retired less than an hour ago, employed in drawing up the analgesia.

She handed the full syringe to the doctor, their gloved hands brushed and Shelagh wondered how she was not the one who was visibly shaking. Patrick mouthed a silent _thank you_.

The Nonnatus team did their very best to stabilize their patient and monitor her unborn child, but they were all aware that she needed a level of intervention not available to them. After what seemed like an age, Trixie appeared at the door, Jane was bringing the flying squad up the stairs.

Dr Turner followed the London team and what was now their patient down the stairs, explaining his findings and what treatment had been administered. Chummy's young friends followed with Sister Evangelina. This left Sister Julienne and Shelagh in the now eerily empty room. The younger woman had started clearing away equipment and stripping the soiled linen.

"Shelagh, please leave that. You are not dressed appropriately for this."

Shelagh didn't stop, she kept her head down and kept working. The pensive nun moved towards her and encircled Shelagh's wrists firmly with her strong worn hands, to stop the perpetual movement.

"You have blood on your skirt."

Shelagh eventually stilled and stared down at her stained skirt.

"It's old," she muttered almost incomprehensibly, scrutinizing the 1940's skirt she had put on that morning, for the first time in over a decade.

"We will find something to fit you in the charity box," the sister offered with a brittle smile.

"We most certainly will not!" the horrified voice did not come from the silent Scot.

Both women turned towards the bedroom door.

"You will come with me, I am sure I can lend you something," a breathless exasperated voice continued.

A trembling arm encircled the pale, bewildered figure in front of her. The new arrival to the scene, threw back her head, sniffed back the tears and swallowed the bile in the back of her throat.

She needed desperately a distraction to take her mind off her dear friend, who was fighting for not just her own life. One had unexpectedly presented itself and no-one was going to dare say no, to Trixie Franklin.


	4. All Girls Together

Shelagh sat on the edge of Trixie's bed, as the blonde clattered hangers together in her tiny overfilled wardrobe.

"Now there is a dress in here that is far too short for me. It's practically indecent."

Trixie's laughter at her own joke, was shrill and forced. Shelagh met it with silence.

"I've been meaning to give it to Cynthia," she continued, "but she never wears anything I hand down to her."

Shelagh in spite of herself cracked a smile at her old friends indignation. She seemed to have a lack of awareness that even the sweetest of girls, even one such as Cynthia Miller, may not want to wear Trixie's hand-me-downs.

As Trixie muttered and clashed, Shelagh looked around the nurse's bedroom. They had shared a home for so many years, but Shelagh had spent so little time in this particular room. She had only ventured in to wake the nurse or tell her she had a visitor or a telephone call. She had never before sat on her bed.

She thought of her own room or rather her former room. It was similar in dimensions to the young nurses, but much more plain. She looked at the dressing table cluttered with a shambles of bottles, tubes, brushes, combs and other paraphernalia. Shelagh had no idea why Trixie needed so many and what they could all be for.

Shelagh looked at the cards and photographs stuck on Trixie's mirror and adorning the wall above the bed, the one she was now rocking on the edge of. She thought of how she had concealed Timothy's precious picture in her draw, just a corridor away from where she sat now. How she had then secreted it in the bottom of her suitcase as she packed for the sanatorium. It was still in there, but the suitcase was now in the boot of Dr Turner's car.

She could have displayed it in her room at the sanatorium. Questions may have been asked, friendly non-probing questions, but still questions she hadn't been ready to answer. Maybe in her new lodgings she could finally let it see the light of day. Shelagh suddenly felt lightheaded, she steadied herself by holding on to Trixie's mattress beneath her with both hands.

"You are shivering, Sister Bernadette are you alright?"

"I haven't eaten much today, it's been..."

What had it been she wondered? _-Confusing, invigorating, wonderful, terrifying, testing, long and definitely not as planned._

Shelagh gulped in some air. She reminded herself that Chummy was the one in need now, the poorly one, not her.

"I am fine, Trixie...it's Shelagh now."

Trixie had a million questions rushing through her mind. On any other day, she would have prided herself on her achievement of securing a private audience with the most interesting thing that had happened at Nonnatus, since, well since she had been there. This wasn't any other day though, Trixie couldn't get Chummy out of her mind.

Her guest also looked fragile and pale. The young nurse reached for her scarlet midwives cardigan from the hook on her bedroom door. She passed it to a grateful Shelagh, who had failed to collect her own jacket, the one she had discarded in the emergency. That was long before Trixie had whisked her away from Sister Julienne. The girl returned to her rummaging,

"Here it is," Trixie laid a coral red floral dress next to Shelagh on her bed.

"I let Jane borrow it once. I think it brought her luck, eventually," she beamed.

Shelagh was beginning to realize she needed a great many things, luck wasn't one of them. Food, shelter, rest and to know where Patrick was, were definitely higher on her list of priorities. She wondered if he had accompanied Constable Noakes to the London. She could hardly ask Trixie about the doctor's whereabouts. Shelagh wondered if she could get away with just asking where everyone was? Or if anyone had followed the ambulance? She hoped to be reunited with her roadside rescuer soon, as soon as Trixie stopped faffing about, that was.

Fortunately her temporary roommate had turned towards her chest of drawers. Shelagh hoped she hadn't picked up the impatience now clouding her expression. She absentmindedly started fingering the soft fabric of the pretty cotton dress that had been triumphantly presented to her. Everything was starting to take on the feel of something completely otherworldly. She knew she would start to feel better, if she only knew he was waiting downstairs for her, but that was selfish wasn't it? Shelagh reprimanded herself for her doubt, full in the knowledge she would have to do so again, if she found out his car was no longer parked outside. She could go to the window on some pretence of needing some air and see for herself. Or she could just wait.

Shelagh's inner struggle was abruptly brought to a close as a crystal tumbler was thrust under her nose. She recognised the odour straight away and nearly fell back on the bed. Her father had always enjoyed a glass of malt at the end of a hard day in the grocers. This smelt slightly less peaty, but it was still recognisably whisky.

"Will make you feel better," Trixie reassured.

Shelagh wasn't convinced of that, but she took a sip anyway. It was not like she hadn't drank it before or found it unpleasant. There was something comforting in the harsh flavours that caressed her tongue. Reassuring her with something of home? Her concrete understanding in the wider sense was that home now meant Poplar. The ironic twist was not lost on her, she was at this very moment officially homeless.

She had been invited into the nurses room. She had been a guest of Sister Julienne earlier. She had accepted a lift in the doctor's car this morning. She had taken tea and biscuits at the Turner's flat, what seemed like hours ago. None of these places were currently hers. She could eat a biscuit now or anything to be honest. Used to regular meal times at the sanatorium, she was wondering if her insistence to see Sister Julienne before accepting Patrick's offer of a meal had been wise.

"There we are, Sweetie," giggled Trixie, "We are all girls together now, don't tell Sister Julienne our secrets."

Shelagh smiled, Sister Julienne was a treasure chest of secrets. Everyone's; patient's, parishioners, sister's, nurse's and Sister Bernadette's. She cast a glance at Trixie, did the nurses really think that the sisters didn't know about their little night time swarays? Did they believe once you renounce possessions, free will and temptations of the flesh, they also remove your sense of smell and powers of observation? The smile for her recent colleague however, was without disapproval and graced with genuine affection.

Trixie reached for a Black Russian Sobranie from her elegant gold cigarette case. She hadn't hesitated in offering her guest a glass of whisky, but it never occurred to her, to repeat the courtesy with her cigarettes. Shelagh wavered for a second, Trixie would be only too glad to share, but the smell of the tobacco brought back thoughts of Patrick, flooding her tired mind. This was still a time of secrets.

She had sometimes confessed in her prayers to coveting the _joie de vivre_ the young nurse seemed to possess. At that moment, she was very aware that underneath the bravado, her companion was actually as frightened and confused as she was. Trixie begged her to change into the stylish cast-off. Shelagh nodded, it took a few seconds before the nurse cottoned on that the ex-nun, was waiting for her to leave the room.

All girls together? Maybe not as yet.

Trixie stood in the corridor with her back against her bedroom door. This morning she had been overjoyed with the news that her friend had been discharged and was heading to Chichester to convalesce. That joy had been compounded when Jenny rang to say her other friend was in labour.

Trixie had daringly, or maybe more accidentally, brought her whisky into the corridor with her. She sipped at it, where was the joy now?


	5. Nurse Mannion

Dr Turner washed his hands and rolled his shirt sleeves down along his still damp forearms. Jane who was desperate to be of use, was taking care of replenishing his bag. He heard a rustle of skirt behind him, he turned quickly, _no of course it wouldn't be her, not now_. Sister Julienne was staring straight at him, his mouth went dry, he was sure she was reading his mind.

He had no idea how much Shelagh had told the sister, they hadn't discussed it in the car with Timothy in tow. The conversation had been about clothes and lodgings. They had talked about practicalities and the most common causes of death in insects. Not what mattered. He thought there would be time later. Now it was later and he hadn't a clue what had passed between Shelagh and the sister.

He had left her upstairs as he accompanied his patient to the ambulance. _Where was she? Why wasn't she down by now? Maybe she had been offered accommodation here and she was in her room_.

He suddenly remembered one of her suitcases was in his car. She had taken one in with her, returning her habit. The other with her few personal possessions was still in the boot of his car.

 _Why won't this damn button fasten?_ He pulled at his cuff impatiently. _Where the hell is she?_

Sister Julienne remained silent. Patrick turned back towards the sink to avoid her gaze, still fiddling with his cuff. Another rustle, he again instinctively turned round.

 _How long have I been doing that?_ She had been absent for three months, but he was still jumping at the sound of a habit. Sister Evangelina marched into the clinical room. The recently arrived nun's eyes darted around the room, like a cat watching an unsuspecting mouse.

More silence, more staring, more fiddling with the confounded button.

The tension was broken by Nurse Miller, wanting to know who wanted tea.

The residents of course all did, but did Dr Turner?

Why was, "Would you care to take tea with us?" the hardest question he had ever had to answer _._

He didn't want to take tea, but if he didn't, he had no reason to stay, he would have no way of finding out what had happened to her.

He realized that four sets of eyes were now on him, waiting for a simple answer to a simple question.

Dr Turner had been kind to Cynthia earlier that day and somewhere in the universe it was decreed that he should be rewarded. Without thinking the young nurse asked, "Oh and Sister Bernadette, will she be staying?"

Patrick could have kissed her, but since he hadn't kissed Shelagh yet, this was probably not the correct course of action.

Sister Julienne answered Cynthia's question as if Dr Turner had asked it, looking directly at him.

 _Shelagh_ she corrected had needed to change her clothes and she was currently with Nurse Franklin, she believed.

Cynthia nodded. Sister Evangelina huffed loudly as if been asked to exhale for a peak-flow reading. The cat was beginning to wonder if she had her mouse trapped.

Patrick didn't notice, he was still struggling with his button, but less energetically. He was rolling it around between his thumb and index finger absently.

 _Why was she getting changed?_ He knew she hadn't been happy with the grey suit, even though he thought she looked lovely in it. But she was going to buy new clothes, he said he would give her money, but she insisted she thought she would have enough. _Maybe she didn't? Maybe that's why she is with Nurse Franklin. Why won't she let me help her?_ _Why is she trying to do this on her own? Why had she gone to Trixie?_

His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth and he stopped fiddling with his button. She had come in with one suitcase, the case containing everything that belonged to Nonnatus.

 _Walking in on Chummy's emergency, being thrown in the deep end after three months of rest and treatment. She is still sick, still on medication._

 _What If it has all been too much for her?_

 _What has happened between her and Sister Julienne?_

 _Does she feel differently now back at Nonnatus, back home?_

 _What if there did come that familiar rustle of thick wool on wool?_

 _What if she came down dressed differently?_

 _What if she had re-opened that suitcase?_

Patrick's mind was starting to unravel, like the thread around the tiny button on his shirt sleeve.

Cynthia meanwhile was still wondering who was having tea. Jane sensitive to atmospheres was starting to breathe more heavily. The cat meanwhile, looked ready to pounce on that unsuspecting mouse at any moment.

Jenny entered wondering what was taking Cynthia so long, as the kettle had already boiled.

"So that's six of us and Sister Monica Joan. What about Dr Turner and Sister Bernadette?" she asked.

The cat pounced.

"Yes, what about Dr Turner and Sister Bernadette?" spat Sister Evangelina.

The mouse who had been lost in his own personally constructed nightmare, suddenly sensed real danger.

Sister Julienne finally spoke.

"Forgive us Dr Turner, we are all I am afraid a little on edge this evening. You see here at Nonnatus, we take the welfare of our young women very seriously. When one of our family is taken from us, into the care of another, however capable. We may be at fault, but we find we can't help but be concerned. We cherish our young women, they are precious to us. Do you understand me, Doctor?"

The doctor nodded, the whole room was transfixed on the conversation between Sister Julienne and Dr Turner. The two conversationalists were now completely unaware of anyone else.

"I perfectly understand Sister, your concern does you credit. All I can offer is my reassurance, that anything so precious will only be treated with the utmost care and respect. All that is asked of me shall be given. I assure you that life is cherished not only within these walls. All anyone desires in the end is healing and the promise of a happy tomorrow. I think on that we can both agree."

Sister Julienne did not smile but she nodded towards the doctor.

Jenny and Cynthia looked at each other bemused. "Are we still talking about Chummy?" Jenny hissed, a rare stern look from Jane hushed her.

Sister Evangelina had her arms folded under her breasts and looked ready to devour the mouse. Trixie arrived at the entrance looking tired, but pleased with herself, her eyes were shining. Behind her stood a very pale Shelagh. To Patrick's relief in a rather pretty red floral sundress and matching cardigan, she would have looked stunning, if she hadn't looked so uncomfortable.

Shelagh's porcelain complexion gradually turned to crimson. For the second time that day she felt that all eyes were on her as she entered a room. Strange, in a house where not long ago she had felt as if doors were starting to close before her and she had felt invisible. One pair of eyes was not taking in the vision of the former nun in a pretty dress, but rather focused on the dress itself.

The sight of the coral calf length floral dress with the wide panel at the base, brought memories flooding back to the young woman assisting the doctor repack his bag. The shouts of the Teddy Boys, Mr Roberts drunken taunts, the unmistakable sickening sound of violence. She remembered running even though her breathing was failing her and her legs felt as heavy as the mooring stumps in the Thames. She remembered hiding in her room, curled up in a tight embryonic ball on her bed. Trixie's pretty dress stained with tears and sweat.

This terrifying memory had been soothed by the kindest of voices. It had also soothed Dougie Roberts wounds. As she had lain on her bed that night, his voice had reached through to her. It had overcome all the shouting and screaming in her head, to soothe her. So much so, that she had been able to get out of bed the following morning and brave any well meant frivolous interrogations, just so she could once again hear that same soothing voice for real. She remembered thinking, she had Sister Bernadette to thank, for the curious lack of curiosity from the other midwives, surrounding her much anticipated and talked about evening engagement the night before.

Jane coming back to the present, noticed Shelagh looked as uncomfortable as she had in that sleeveless garment, she was glad Trixie has seen sense to also offer her cardigan. She remembered feeling exposed, just as Shelagh was looking now. Jane had noticed something else, when Shelagh had been behind Trixie, before they came to the door. The frail woman had looked completely different, her face had been flushed, but not from embarrassment from something else, there had been a flicker of recognition over her face and what looked like relief. Jane turned instinctively towards Doctor Turner. The Reverend Applebee-Thornton had never seen Jane in that particular dress, but he had looked at Jane as the doctor was now looking at Shelagh. It wasn't the first time she had seen him look that way, or her.

It is often said that if someone lacks or is deficient in a certain sense, if possible the other 4 overcompensate. In Jane's case her reluctance to converse and socialize seemed only to have heightened her awareness of her surroundings and the events that occurred within them. Jane knew she wouldn't be the only one to pick up the frisson between the two. She grabbed the first thing at hand in attempt to reluctantly break the enchanting spell that had been cast between them. The orderly turned quickly and enquired,

"Where would you like me to put this Doctor Turner?" Thrusting a rectal thermometer in his face.

It was Jane's turn to now change colour as Dr Turner pointed at his bag. It had been awkward for a moment, but she felt she had played her part in trying to help ease the tension, that was beginning to build up both inside and around her.

Jenny who had just about had enough, "So tea, everyone?"

Patrick now awkwardly, went to twist the gold band he had worn on his left hand for over 12 years, but was no longer there. As Shelagh did the same on her right hand. A coincidence that was not lost on Sister Evangelina. The cat finally had her prey cornered.

Shelagh glared at Patrick, they were both desperate to leave. Shelagh finally spoke, a thin voice not reminiscent at all of her usually jovial Scottish brogue.

"No tea for me, Nurse thank you. I have so many things to do," Still glaring at Patrick. He got the hint.

"Can I offer you a lift? Miss...Miss erm?" Patrick faltered. _What was her damn name?_

Everyone except Trixie and Jane, had heard him call her Shelagh in the situation upstairs and now he was at a loss for her surname.

The cat now had her mouse by the tail.

"Mannion! Dr Turner, Miss Mannion. I think is the name you're looking for," Sister Evangelina's practically growled, rather than purred.

Patrick wasn't going to surrender that easily, if nothing else he was blessed with a patient temperament,

"Can I drop you somewhere, _Nurse_ Mannion?" He corrected the sister. Nurse Mannion nodded.

Sister Evangelina grunted, but couldn't argue after the events of the day and the composure that had been shown in treating Chummy. She skulked out of the clinical room.

"So that's just seven for tea then?" Jenny sighed.

Sister Julienne ushered everyone out of the clinical room including Trixie, reluctant to give up her charge. Nurse Mannion moved toward Dr Turner reached for his left hand with both of hers and fastened the button on his shirt cuff.


	6. The Next Step

Sister Julienne saw them out. Very little was said as she closed the large red doors behind them. Patrick immediately searched for his cigarettes and lighter. He suddenly realized he was stood alone at the top of the Nonnatus stone staircase. Shelagh had sank to the floor. Exhaustion, hunger and emotion had finally got the better of her. She sat on the top step, knees bunched up, elbows resting on the skirt of Trixie's dress and her head in her hands. Patrick immediately sat down next to her.

" Si-Shelagh, are you alright?" his voice struggled to maintain its clinical edge.

"I am fine, honestly," came the reply, "just.. the thought of all these steps overwhelmed me for a minute." She attempted a brave smile of reassurance.

"Where's your cardie?" he abruptly enquired. The sun had gone down hours ago, the autumnal night air definitely had an edge to it.

"I left it on the hooks by the door, it's Nurse Franklin's work one, she will have need of it."

Patrick rubbed his temples with his left hand, he hadn't noticed her remove the garment and leave it behind the now closed door. To eager to be on the other side, he hadn't noticed Shelagh's quiet act of altruism. Always putting everyone else's needs above her own comfort and sometimes, like now, her well-being.

Trixie's dress although pleasing wasn't really suitable for an October evening. The dress was sleeveless with a high scooped neckline, but the zip fastener finished its journey much lower down Shelagh's back, leaving a V of exposed pale skin.

Trixie hadn't been entirely accurate with her over-confident estimation that the garment would fit Shelagh perfectly. The cumbersome religious vestments of yesterday had been concealing a slight figure, three months of intensive antibiotic therapy and enervation had stolen resources from her body, that she had never held in abundance. The dress hung awkwardly at the bodice and the thick straps laid lazily on her alabaster shoulders

"Let's get you to the car," Patrick chivied, Shelagh did not move.

Patrick was worried, he wanted to feel her forehead, take her pulse, but the little ball she had curled herself up into prevented it. He tentatively placed his hand on her rounded back. Patrick's considerable hand-span almost covered Shelagh's tiny trunk. It would have been impossible to determine who was the more surprised. Shelagh reacted instantly to the warmth of his hand and shivered. Skin that had long since felt the touch of night air, let alone the touch of another, tingled with anticipation at the sudden influx of sensation.

Patrick removed his hand, with a lot more haste than he had applied it, due to the touch of her skin and the reaction of her involuntary nervous system.

"You are freezing!" was the doctor's expert opinion.

"Dr Turner," he was heedful enough of the circumstances not to correct her. She lifted her head to caution him, "I have been cold all day. I entered the order on a hot summers day and left on a dreek autumn one in the same clothes." Her tone softened from it's strong Scottish scold to something more gentle, when she saw the concern in his eyes. "Until I arrived earlier, I hadn't realised how insulating the habits were and how damp Nonnatus is. No wonder the nurses all wear cardigans."

Patrick wanted to go and get his coat and wrap her up in it, as he had done that morning. He was however afraid if he left her unattended, she might over-balance and tumble down the steps. Not unlike the bright red bouncy football, a toddling Timothy had once delighted in repeatedly throwing down the same steep steps. She reassured him she only needed a few more seconds.

Patrick chose to attempt a further course of action and tentatively put his arm around her. She felt so cold. Shelagh responded to the warmth of his body close to hers and edged slightly closer to him, leaning against his chest to let him take some of her insubstantial weight. She was finding it so hard to remain upright due to her fatigue.

If she could only just sleep for a few minutes. Patrick sensed her intention as she leaned into him and snuggled her way under his jacket, finding a comfortable place for her head beneath his arm and against his wool of his pullover. The woollen warmed her face and tickled her nose. Heat began to radiate from her place of nuzzling slowly down her body. She remembered rare summer days on the sands at Balmedie. Her Da burying her in the hot sand, her mother berating him for being too rough, drowned out by her own girlish laughter. She could feel the burning sand in between her toes and the weight of the sheet of the golden glistening mineral on her legs. She had the feeling of being wrapped up in an ever shifting blanket of love and joy. Home was only ever a heartbeat away and she could hear the rhythm of home now as her head rested against Patrick's heart.

Patrick tried to stay as still as he could, she looked relaxed probably for the first time that day. The little furrows that marked the centre of her brow had disappeared. Her eyelids were now fluttering closed and her breathing shallowed. He wanted to take her hand or stroke her hair, but was unsure of what the next step should be. She had taken hold of the bland coloured wool of Patrick's jumper to secure her position, he noticed her grip lessen, just before he felt her whole body slacken against him.

It would have been so easy to let her just have her way, let her drift off for a while, nestled safe in his arms. For a few minutes they were just a tired couple after a long troubling day, finding comfort together on the convent steps. That was until the doctor responded to the call. He abruptly and rather vigorously started rubbing her arm. This jolted her from her slumber. He was rubbing both her arms now and calling her name, telling her to get up. Shelagh was reminded of her father rubbing the family's Irish Red Setter with an old towel in the back kitchen when he came in from the rain.

"Patrick I am fine." They were on their feet and the doctor was removing his jacket to put around her. The large scarlet Nonnatus door alarmingly creaked open. Shelagh couldn't quite believe her first prayer as no longer a religious sister once outside the doors of Nonnatus was; _Please God, don't let it be Sister Evangelina_ Something she had also prayed quite frequently as a religious sister inside those doors, she mused.

Patrick, who was trying to extricate his jacket to give to Shelagh, was taken rather more by surprise by the impending intrusion. The disruption had resulted in him becoming unsure of his footing on the steps. He wobbled and grabbed the nearest thing available to add ballast, which was something considerably lighter than himself; Shelagh.

The woman was already unsteady as she had stood on the hem of that, "Dratted dress," as she had jumped to her feet. It had all happened a little too quickly and she was now feeling slightly dizzy. It was a scramble of tired limbs and sheer-will that secured them on the step. Both quite unsure who had saved who from the significant drop. Shelagh was holding tightly onto Patrick's jacket and the doctor had a firm grip on Shelagh's arm and one of the slack straps of the dratted dress. Sister Julienne stood motionless as the pair tried to steady themselves and each other.

Shelagh wasn't sure at this moment exactly what her future contained, but an image flipped through her mind of explaining to her future children about the first time mummy and daddy had a cuddle. How mummy ended up with friction burns, bruises and possibly even a fractured limb or concussion.

"Have you been called out Sister, is it Chummy?" All three of them were surprised that the ex-midwife found her voice first, showing an unexpected element of composure.

Sister Julienne said nothing, just moved towards the disheveled young woman in front of her, wrapping a ruby red cardigan around her shoulders and steadying her in doing so. She brought the two edges of the woollen garment together with a firm pull and smiled into Shelagh's eyes.

"I thought you looked cold," by way of explanation," it's Nurse Noakes', therefore a little on the generous side, but it will keep you warm and shield you."

With that she added, "Good night my friend."

Patrick stood unobtrusively a few steps below them. The nun turned to him,

"Good Night Dr Turner," there was no smile for him, but there was no reprimand either. Patrick nodded much more than a farewell. Sister Julienne turned and disappeared through the great doors. Shelagh started to cry.

Patrick was thinking out loud, something on the lines of, it being too late to secure lodgings. She would come home with him. Timothy would act as chaperone, so that was all right. If Tim was still up she could have his bed, if not he would sleep on the settee and on he kept rambling.

Shelagh said nothing and munched on her supper, the warmth of the chip filled newspaper warming her hands and lap. The car heater was blowing hot air on her feet and other places under Trixie's kind but rather unsuitable gift. Patrick aimlessly stole a chip between machinations. The ample red cardigan was neatly tied around her shoulders.

As Shelagh started to feel more like herself again, her thoughts turned more from her own ordeal to that of the owner of her knitted comforter. Chummy's life with Peter, how they would have imagined ending the day cuddled together in their Nonnatus makeshift home, with their new baby and how it had all gone horribly wrong.

Out of nowhere she asked, "Patrick what would you do now? If I wasn't here."

He wasn't sure at first how she meant it, neither really was she. He opted for the _if I wasn't in the car_ scenario _,_ rather than something more universal and terrifying.

"I'dd..," he started then stopped, "I don't know."

"Yes you do, you were going to say something, what would you do?"

"It's silly."

Shelagh suddenly wished she hadn't asked.

"Do you normally go to the pub or something?"

Patrick barked out a laugh, "I haven't been to the pub in years."

Was it a woman? He had written to her without rest, but she hadn't responded, not once. Had he got fed up, maybe he was seeing someone else? No, she had received a letter only yesterday.

"Patrick tell me," she entreatied.

He finally confessed, "If you weren't here, I would go to the London." he continued when she didn't interrupt, "I have had too many experiences of sitting in vacuous hospital corridors on my own, waiting for news. To not be thinking about what Peter might be going through at this moment."

"I know a little of that too and of feeling completely alone in an unfamiliar place," she stilled his hand as he went for another chip.

"You must go."

"No, I need to take care of you, as you just said you have had to cope far too long on your own."

"But I won't be on my own, Timothy will be with me and I will wait for you and news of Chummy."

Patrick dropped her at the flat. It wasn't the most romantic of first kisses, the car held a heavy odour of cigarette smoke and chip fat. Patrick lent in to capture her mouth. Her lips felt greasy and tasted of salt, vinegar and most peculiarly whisky. As Patrick reached for her hand he accidentally grabbed a piece of battered cod. Shelagh did feel a warmth in her belly, but soon realized it was nothing to do with the kiss. Moving his body closer to hers, he had pushed her supper up against her.

"Trixie's dress!" Shelagh cried, nearly dislocating Patrick's jaw, in her haste to look down to survey the damage.

The Poplar fashionista's garment was covered in newspaper print, grease and vinegar. Shelagh failed to trap a giggle and a shower of both malt vinegar and malt whisky tainted spittle, thoroughly showered her would be lover's face. It hardly resembled a Gwendolyn de la Roche paperback romance.

He opened the car door for her and then the flat entrance, he thought she would be cowed and furtive, sneaking into his flat in the dark. Not a bit of it, instead she was a fit of gorgeous giggles, clinging to the remains of her precious supper. He wondered if she was now so completely overwhelmed and physically spent, that she had surrendered to whatever may come.

He stole a final chip and a kiss on her grin and chip induced swollen cheek, as she passed him at the door. A succession of hiccups climbed with her up the stairs. Sister Bernadette was climbing up his stairs in Trixie's dress and Chummy's cardie covered in grease and condiment, wreaking of whisky and alternating each stair between a hiccup and a giggle. What was he about to do?

Go sit with Peter, of course.


	7. Epilogue

Patrick was hoping to find his son either in the big bed or on the settee, safe in the knowledge Shelagh was in Timothy's bed. He was pretty certain that wasn't what he was going to find.

The living room door was ajar, the telly was still on and showing the test card. The silver light from the screen picked out an array of books, school jotters, plates, cups and glasses on the floor. Shelagh was laid on her right hand side on his settee. A thought fluttered through his mind, was this how she normally slept? or had the furniture forced her position.

Timothy was laid in front of her and they were covered in a collection of blankets from the airing cupboard. He saw a snippet of the bright red of the Nonnatus cardigan among them. Shelagh had one arm around the child and one scrunched into a ball holding the edge of the woolly.

As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he noticed her hair was down and her glasses were on the floor resting on a book. He could see the collar of one his pyjama tops poking out the top of the covers encircling her throat.

He suddenly felt uncomfortable, he should not be looking at her in her sleep, no one had seen her like this, not for years, not maybe since she was a child. He should leave, but he couldn't. The silver light flickered across her face and hair making it look darker than he imagined it to be, from what he had seen today. It was wavy and thick and rested on her shoulders.

His observations were interrupted at the sound of the telephone. Patrick rushed to the hall table to silence it.

"Turner," he almost whispered.

"Doc? 'Allo, I am sorry to ring so late, it's just I'd heard nothing sees and so as not to disturb Nonnatus. I rangs the hospital see and they said as I wasn't proper family they couldn't tell me nuffin'. But as you 'ad just not long left with the constable, to maybies give you a bell."

It took Patrick a while to realize it was the Nonnatus handyman on the other end of the call. It took him slightly longer to remember he and Chummy ran Tim's cub pack and had formed quite a bond.

He stared into the living room. Shelagh had stirred at the sound of the bell, but was trapped under a still sleeping Timothy. She was fidgeting, Patrick suddenly realized she would be unsure of her whereabouts and remembered her poor vision. He flicked a switch in the hall to give her more light.

She stilled and tried to focus on him, a smile blossomed across her face. He understood she was able to see him, at least in part. He wanted to help her, but Fred was still wittering on. She found her spectacles and put them back where they had use. That simple task seemed to bring her relief, the observer thought.

Shelagh looked inquiringly at Patrick, sitting up as much as she could under Tim's weight. Patrick gazed at his sleeping son, peaceful and unburdened and suddenly felt a shot of something he could easily mistake for envy. "Are you OK?" He mouthed at her and winked. Shelagh's eyes did the opposite in response and widened, she nodded.

"So Doc, if you can just tell me 'ow she is?" the intrusive voice in his ear.

Patrick looked at a stirring Timothy, who was being hushed and soothed by Shelagh, he could see his pyjama top more clearly. She had draped the signature Nonnatun knitwear around her shoulders, her cheeks were peony pink rather than the clammy alabaster he had witnessed earlier. Her hair in the extra light was all shades of a cornfield waiting for harvest. The mixture of different light sources kept catching her eyes, moving them through the spectrum from sapphire to azure at each turn of her head.

She was humming something to Tim as she stroked his matted hair. He recognised it as a song he had heard on the wireless and somewhere else more recently, much more recently. The humming occasionally gave way to song... _put it in your pocket...never..fade away...some starless night...pocket full of starlight...love may come...want to hold her...they just might..._

A now forgotten voice at the other end of the telephone invaded his consciousness,

"Doc, your killing me 'ere, just tell me straight. How are they doing?"

Patrick smiled, "Mother and child are doing well, they are doing just fine."

 **Thank you for reading it means so much and to all who have took time to comment I really appreciate it. I hope you enjoyed this playful look at a wonderful episode as much as I did. It's been a long day. See you soon.**


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